Because that’s what this is, this blog of mine. It’s the closest thing I have ever had to a real job. And that’s pretty sad.
But I have always been too good at hiding from reality. I was always hidden away in a bedroom in front of a computer somewhere, just like I am right now, as I type this.
Well at least I’m consistent.
So there’s never been anything compelling me to go out and deal with that big mean world out there. I’ve never needed to work in order to survive. I’ve never had kids or a wife to support.
And as for the natural instincts that lead most young mammals to go off in search of their own territories, we all know I am very good at ignoring my biological drives.
If my instincts were telling me to go out there and kick ass, I wasn’t listening.
Even now, as I am quite belatedly waking up my slumbering id and putting it to work, I am still not exactly chomping at the bit to get on out there.
Because I am scared. Scared of that big loud terrifying world out there. Deep down, I am still an abandoned child who is convinced that he cannot possibly be strong enough to survive on his own and so it’s hide from the world or be eaten alive.
And I know that’s nuts. So am I.
I know that I have all the skills I need to live on my own and work a job. My health issues are a complication and then some, but I could find something I can do.
And there’s always freelance work, of course. That’s well within my wheelhouse.
And yet, loon that I am, the idea of having to face the real world on my own fills me with horror. It’s become the hidden villain of my life, all the scarier for remaining unseen.
If my life had taken any sort of normal route, I probably would have gotten my degree then gone out to prove myself in my twenties and made something of myself.
Instead I’m almost 50, a cripple, and scared of my own shadow.
But that is not destiny. What comes does not have to resemble what’s been. I can pull myself out of the dark again just like I did all those decades ago when my parents pulled my brother and I out of UPEI.
Nobody is going to rescue me. No matter how pathetic my life gets, nobody is going to show up and tell me it was all a tragic mistake and take me away to some place where I don’t have to deal with being a grownup any more and from now on, all I have to do is be brilliant and that will get me whatever I want.
It’s a little nauseating how much that appeals to me.
No, if I want more, I am going to have to get it for myself. And that means I have to crawl up my giant heap of ossified bullshit till I am finally up high enough to get the fuck over myself and get on with life.
Maybe when I get up there, I’ll plant a flag.
More after the break.
The second shift
Time for the rest of the day’s work.
I wonder what it would take for me to become a successful blogger
And by “successful”, I mean “able to make a living writing words”.
I suppose in a perfect world, I would have a space for my writings with a lively and enthusiastic and highly engaged audience of readers who would read what I write and leave intelligent comments about it and even debate it in the forums.
That sounds pretty doable. The trick is somehow getting said audience.
Thus we come to the Achilles heel of so many of us sensitive artistic types, ESPECIALLY us writers, and that’s self-promotion.
We’re not exactly inclined toward it.
Our whole deal is sitting alone in our nice safe homes and typing words and assembling worlds and expressing our thoughts all alone, where nobody can bug us or try to interfere and things can therefore be exactly how we want them to be.
To then take this darling child we’re brought into the world and try to sell it is such a bizarre and horrifying thing for us to try to do.
This is why agents exist. They know how to do that shit.
And, presumably, how to deal with cranky, anti-social, reclusive writers.
But we’re talking Internet writing here. The agent is not as needed because you don’t have to face the same kind of gatekeeping as traditional publishing.
But I do not know how one garners an audience. That first step, where you get people’s attention long enough to engage them, is a doozie.
Still, it has to be possible. Someone out there is making a living stringing words together on the internet. Somewhere there’s a place where I could get the exposure I need in order to develop an audience and my skills at pleasing said audience.
I know what my brand is or would be as a commentator : my fresh hot takes on familiar subjects. Or, on a deeper level, my ability to surprise the reader with my unique POV and to stimulate fresh thought and debate.
So in essence, my ability to stir shit up.
That would not be the product, mind you. I would never say things I don’t mean just to offend or provoke people.
Not only is that below me, but it would be entirely unnecessary because the things I genuine thoughts and beliefs piss people off enough already.
Trust me on that.
But they would have to read or watch or listen to me first, and that brings us back to square one with how you get their attention in the first place.
Preferably in ways that do not involve hilarious public nudity.
That’s more for me that for you, reader.
And I know the fact that I can’t think of how to get people’s attention is a psychological thing, not a cognitive thing, and if I could just pull my head out of the, we’ll say, clouds, it would become obvious.
But my shyness and fear are getting in the way.
God damn it Trog. Get the fuck out of the way!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow!